Playing The Game

by Jeff Shelby

  I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and lifted my chin in Ty's direction. “Figured if I pulled it out in front of you, Hammerling, you'd drop to your knees. And I'm not into you.”

  His smile disintegrated as I walked out.

  THIRTY SEVEN

  My dad was already gone for work when I got home, and I was making eggs and toast for dinner when the phone rang. I couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t left something in the fridge or on top of the stove for me to eat. I pulled the toast out of the toaster and picked it up, thinking it was him calling to check on me. “Yes, I'm home, and I'm making breakfast for dinner.”

  “Brady?” the voice said. “It's your mother.”

  “Oh.” And then, because that seemed inadequate, I said, “Hi.”

  “You're making breakfast for dinner?” she asked.

  I immediately got irritated that she'd called and was interrogating me. “Yeah.”

  “Why? Isn't your father home?”

  I walked back to the skillet. “He's at work.”

  “I see,” she said. “How is school?”

  “Fine.”

  “And basketball?”

  “Fine.”

  “How are you, Brady?”

  I flipped the eggs in the pan. “Fine.”

  “Can you say anything other than fine?”

  I slid the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. “Yeah.”

  She sighed and I could picture her, eyes rolling, staring up at the ceiling, shaking her head. She’d be wearing yoga pants and a long T-shirt, her feet encased in running shoes. She always wore running shoes, even though she didn’t run. Just one more illusion about her that was completely false.

  “Did your dad talk to you about this summer?” she asked.

  “He mentioned it.”

  “I'd like to make plans with you.”

  I grabbed the butter from the fridge. “Right.”

  “I think you'd like it here in Florida, Brady,” she said. “The weather is terrific. And the beaches—”

  “There are beaches here,” I said.

  She was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Of course. Well, I'd like you to see these beaches. And I'd like to spend time with you. So would Dan.”

  Dan.

  Fuck fucking Dan.

  “So I was hoping we could look at the calendar and figure out when would be best,” she said. “Maybe June and July. That would get you back in August before school.”

  “Two months?” I said, pulling a fork from the drawer. “No.”

  “The summers aren't that bad here, Brady. We could—”

  “I'm not spending two months with you,” I said, angry that she thought she could just step all over my summer. “My friends are here.” I paused. Maybe I didn't have friends because the guys on my team certainly weren't. “And I have basketball. Remember that sport I play that might get me into college? I kinda have to play this summer so coaches can watch me and decide if they want me to come to their school. Not that you've ever seen me play all that much.”

  The line buzzed and I knew I'd stung her a little. She was a real estate agent, a job you'd think might give her the freedom to set her own schedule and make my games. But it rarely happened, and even when she did come to any of my events, she'd spend most of the time with her eyes glued to her phone. I always pretended that it was fine because my dad was there, but it wasn't. And I hated that it wasn't.

  “You know, your father and I agreed that I would get to spend some time with you,” she finally said. “We've discussed it several times, and he was in favor of it.”

  “I know,” I said, catching the phone between my ear and shoulder as I covered the eggs with ketchup.

  “So whether you like it or not, I am still your mother.”

  I thought of a million things to say to her, to tell her she was full of shit, but I knew if I did, she'd tell my dad and then he'd be pissed at me. And I didn't like it when he was pissed at me. “I know.”

  “Good. So we'll need to look at the calendar and see—”

  “Look,” I said, grabbing a knife and buttering the toast. “I don't have to come. You can't make me. I'm old enough to make my own decisions.”

  She cleared her throat. “Brady, I know all of this has been hard for you. And I know—”

  All of the anger and frustration I felt erupted. It didn't matter that she wasn't the reason. But right then? She was definitely the target.

  “You don't know anything,” I said, cutting her off. “You really don't. Because you haven't been here. You don't know who my friends are. You don't know where my school is. You don't know what I do every day. You don't know what schools are asking me to come play for them. So don't tell me what you know or what I have to do. I'm gonna eat dinner now.”

  I hung up before she could say anything else.

  I stood there for a minute, my heart beating fast, blood pumping in my ears. What did she know? She didn't know that I'd spent the first few months of school friendless. She didn't know that the guys on my team were probably rapists, that the girl I'd just lost my virginity to wasn't the girl I really liked. She didn't know that Dad was struggling to keep me in clothes and food. She didn't know anything. And to just start talking to me like she'd been a parent the whole time when my dad had been the one busting his butt to make ends meet for us, the one who could look at me and instantly know that something wasn't right?

  As soon as I'd heard her voice, it just made me mad that she'd even called me. Maybe Dad could let go of the anger, but I couldn't.

  Not a chance.

  I sat down at the table and stared at the food on my plate. I'd been starving when I'd started cooking, but now I couldn't find my appetite. I took a deep breath.

  Everything was sort of sucking, and I couldn't figure out how to stop it.

  THIRTY EIGHT

  Cameron was leaning against the bike rack the next morning when I pedaled on to campus. I jumped off the bike and walked it toward the rack, wary of what she wanted. I knew things weren't really settled between us, but I wasn't sure what we were supposed to do now.

  She stood from the rack. She wore black leggings and a lacy white top that showed off her tan, which was basically a uniform requirement at school.

  “Hi.”

  I wheeled the bike into a stall, nodding a greeting.

  “Heard you had a pretty crazy day yesterday,” she said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I said, adjusting the backpack on my shoulders.

  “Did you really attack some guy in class?” she asked. She wore long silver earrings and she reached for one, twirling it between her fingers.

  “I pushed him over.”

  “And you got detention?”

  “Yep.”

  I started walking toward the lockers and she fell in step next to me. “And it was because of Amy Mitchell?”

  “No, it was because Chuck Buchanan is a dick.”

  “You know what I mean, Brady.”

  “No, I don't. Tell me what you mean.”

  She stopped and folded her arms across her chest. “Why are you being like this?”

  I took a couple steps past her and then turned around. “Being like what?”

  “Like this,” she said, widening her eyes. “Like I've done something wrong.”

  “Uh, maybe because you did?”

  “What?” Her forehead creased with a frown. “What did I do wrong?”

  I stepped closer to her. “Lying to me about Amy at Ty's party. Remember that?”

  “I apologized for that,” she said. “I said I was sorry for lying to you, and I told you why I did it. But whatever happened there wasn't my fault.”

  “Whose fault was it then?” I asked. “Tell me.”

  “I don't know,” she said. “But not mine. I didn't do anything.” She shook her head, frustrated. “Jesus, Brady. Everyone knows about that captains’ choice shit. Amy knew about it.”

  “So you knew about it, too?” I asked.

  She shrugge
d. “Of course. People talk.”

  “Who?”

  “Everyone, Brady. Everyone but you, apparently.”

  I looked out the double doors and watched as more cars pulled into the lot. “So you're okay with that? A bunch of guys doing some girl just because it's a tradition.”

  “No,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “Of course not. Who would be? It's disgusting. Why the hell would anyone subject themselves to that?”

  “So you think it's the girl’s fault?”

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and her silver sandals reflected the florescent lights above us. “Well, if they're asking to be that person, I'd say, yeah, it's on them. It is what it is. Would I ever be the one who asked in? Hell, no. But if other girls want in, whatever. That's their choice. I don't get it and it's never going to be me, but that's my choice.”

  “Yeah, but that's bullshit,” I said. “You say it's okay, but then you and everybody else look at her like she's got the plague. So it's clearly not okay. And what if it wasn't her choice?”

  Cam's cheeks colored slightly but she said nothing.

  “I mean, if this is some fucking tradition here,” I said, lowering my voice because I could feel the anger and disgust building inside of me, knew I was ready to blow. “If this is something that happens every year, what happened to the other girls? Did they all leave and go find another school? Another city? Another planet? What about this Tessa girl Jake told me about?”

  She winced at having her words thrown back at her. “No. I mean...”

  “Tell me.”

  Cameron looked at me.

  “Tell me what happened to them. To the other girls.”

  “I don't know,” she said, irritated. “Tessa just...disappeared.”

  “Go figure. What about the year before that?”

  She fidgeted with her hands. “Lindsay Coombs. She graduated. But she was a total whore. And owned it.”

  What a great way to describe another girl. “And the year before that?”

  “Megan.” She thought for a minute. “She...her family moved.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why did they move?”

  “God, Brady, I don't know.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe her dad got a new job. Maybe they sold their house. How the hell am I supposed to know?”

  “And did people treat her the way they're treating Amy? Did they treat this Megan the same way? Like she had some disease? Like she was some sort of sub-human once it happened?”

  “I don't know. I don't remember. I didn't pay attention.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Look, I don't even know why we're having this conversation. All I meant is that this stuff has been going on for a while. If some chick wants to do that, then that's her call. Who am I to stop it? They have the right to make that choice. We're all so hung up on sex, anyway. So if someone gets a thrill from being with the captains of the basketball team, then that's fine. But she's gotta live with it.” She pointed at me. “And I really don't see what this has to do with me and you.”

  I watched kids stream in from the parking lot, talking, laughing, glancing at us, and then going quiet.

  “Amy didn't ask in,” I said.

  “Fine. Whatever,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “I'm sick of talking about her.” She bit her bottom lip and squinted at me. “Do you like her or something?”

  I laughed. “Way to miss the point, Cam.”

  “Do you?”

  “I'm not doing this,” I said, shaking my head. “This is stupid.”

  “Brady, come on,” she said, sounding exhausted. “They all said you were acting weird last night at practice. So don't get shitty with me for asking if you like her.”

  I stared at her for a long moment. “Who said I was acting weird?”

  Her mouth twitched. “Everyone.”

  “You asked everyone in the school?”

  “No.”

  “So who? Derek? Ty? And why exactly are you talking to them about me?”

  “Oh my God,” she said, throwing her hands up. Her frustration was morphing into anger. “You're getting all righteous about what happened to Amy, but you seem to have no problem with what happened between me and you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, frowning at her.

  “It means I wonder if I was just some little conquest for you,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Play the nice, innocent boy, then fuck the girl and bail her.”

  “You're kidding, right?” I said, not believing what I was hearing.

  “Am I?” she asked. “We had sex and guess what? You haven't wanted shit to do with me since then. Maybe you really are just one of those prick jocks. One and done? Is that what they call it?”

  “I told you I wasn't sure how to handle it,” I said, my fists balling up. “I told you that. I don't have a phone. I couldn't call you. But I asked you to come sit with me and Jake at lunch. And I waited at your locker after school. So I didn't blow you off.” I paused, forcing my hands to unfold. “But you lied to me about Amy, and I'm not cool with that.”

  She clutched the strap of her backpack with both hands. “I'm just telling you what's happened. Between me and you, because that's what I care about. And it feels like you totally used me.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “I didn't—”

  “Then are we together?” she asked. “Do you even like me? Did you? Because I have no idea what we are, and I’m feeling like I got fucking played here.”

  I stared at her. My brain was a shit pile of thoughts. She'd blindsided me completely, and I wasn't ready for it. At that moment, I didn't like her because she'd lied to me. But when we'd slept together? Yes, in that moment, I'd liked her. I wasn't in love with her, but I didn't think we had to be in love to have sex. And she was the one that had brought up sex, telling me she wanted to do it at Ty's party, and then climbing into my lap on my couch. I hadn't resisted in any way, and when we were done, I may not have known how to act, but I was thinking we were together. I'd avoided her out of awkwardness, not because I was done with her. Lying had changed everything, though.

  Because I wasn't one of those pricks.

  “We aren't together,” I said. “Because you lied to Amy. And to me. Period. No other reason. You can think you want.”

  She gave me a hard look, her eyes like glass. Her fingers tightened on the strap.

  “Okay,” she said, brushing past me. “But so can others.”

  THIRTY NINE

  So can others.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  I thought about Cameron's words to me through my morning classes and tried to make sense of them. All of her words, actually. As much as I didn't want to, she had me second-guessing myself. Had I slept with her just to sleep with her? No. I liked her. Or I thought I had. But I also liked Amy. I just thought she wasn't available. So I ended up with Cam. She'd wanted to have sex with me. I'd wanted to have sex with her. And if I hadn't found out about what had happened at the party, we wouldn't have been fighting. Hell, maybe if she just hadn't acted like it was no big deal, we wouldn't have been fighting.

  But she stung me when she accused me of being just like the others and now I was questioning what happened the night she'd come over and de-virginized me. Did I use her? I didn't think I had. But I couldn't deny that I hadn't connected with her like I had with Amy, and that I was fully aware of that as were ripping each other's clothes off. So had I just replaced her with the next best thing? Was that okay? We'd both been willing. More than willing. Wasn't that all that mattered?

  I was a total head case.

  “You and Cameron really break up?” Jake asked when I walked into history.

  I glanced at him and saw Amy in her desk, staring at her desktop. “Yeah.”

  “Can I be honest?” Jake asked.

  “No. Please. Lie your ass off.”

  He chuckled. “You're probably better
off.”

  “Why?”

  He doodled in his notebook. “Look, she's for sure hot, right? But you've got a face like a skunk.” He made a face at the notebook. “She'd be looking for something better than you pretty soon.”

  “I'd punch you but I've already gotten detention once this year,” I said.

  He grinned at me. “Just trying to add a little levity. Sorry, man.”

  “It's fine,” I said.

  “Why'd you break up?” Jake asked.

  “How the hell do you already know, anyway?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Fuck if I didn't have to listen to everyone last period talking about it and then asking me about it because we're friends.”

  I sighed. “Sorry, man.”

  “That we're friends?”

  I looked at him, but he was smiling at his notebook.

  I shook my head. Amy's chin was still tucked to her chest, her fingers tracing some invisible pattern on the desk. She had the gray hoodie on again and denim jeans, but she had black Ugg boots on her feet, replacing the beat-up running shoes she'd had on the previous few days. I wasn't sure there was any significance to that, but it seemed like a big deal to me.

  But I was a head case, so what did I know?

  “To answer your question,” I said, “we started arguing about shit, she lied to me and it just went bad.”

  He eyed me for a moment, probably knowing it was more than that. But he didn't say anything, just nodded. “Sorry. But you'll live. No matter what the jackholes around here will try and tell you.”

  “I've gotten pretty good at fending off the jackholes,” I said.

  He held up the notebook. “What do you think?”

  He'd redrawn another version of his chupacabra. It had the features of a goat on steroids, with black holes for eyes and two horns. The details were incredible—the muscles in the thing's legs, the facial features, everything. It looked real.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “That's fantastic.”

  “Yeah?” he asked. “I wanted to make it almost like a superhero kind of thing.”

  “A good chupacabra?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Dude, I'm doing a creator-owned comic book. Anything is possible.”